


All According to Plan

by aPassionateLife



Series: The Adventures of Mor [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Canon Lesbian Relationship, Dungeons and Dragons, F/F, Female Orc - Freeform, Human, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, LGBT, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Sex, NSFW, Orc, This is my ode to thee, Vaginal Fingering, Women with muscles are a gift to the world, dnd, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28463436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aPassionateLife/pseuds/aPassionateLife
Summary: Mor is a traveling orc with a plan and a mission of faith, but meeting a wild, feisty human named Treena was not a part of the plan.
Relationships: Mor Volen/Treena
Series: The Adventures of Mor [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2084880
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	All According to Plan

**Author's Note:**

> Some stuff from when I was WAY too into creating DnD characters, even though I didn’t have any group to play with. One can dream.

It was a typical evening at the Houndstooth Bar; bottles shattering against walls and tables while drunk patrons of every shape and size fought for dominance of the setting. There were many nights where she wondered why she kept this place open.

“Bar wench, another.” Many, probably too many, gold pieces dropped to the bar top as the human struggled to rise to his full height with a drunken slur of words.

That was one good reason.

“Right up.” She winked, rolling her eyes as she turned.

It wasn’t a busy night, really, mostly just a rough crowd. A few ships had taken port just outside of town, the majority being humans like herself, and when sailors hit shore they went for booze first.

“Bitch, hurry it up with that drink.” 

She scowled, and turning around with a bottle in hand, she threw it at the drunken man. He was lucky enough, or perhaps not quite drunk enough, to dodge it, but not without getting soaked with the stuff first.

“Call me a bitch again and you won't be getting a drink,” Treena shouted with a finger jabbed to the door, “Just a boot to the ass and out the door!”

Clinking of glasses could be heard in the sudden silence of the bar as cups and bottles found their way onto water stained wood. She swallowed thickly as a few other sailors approached the bar with annoyed scowls.

With squared shoulders she stood her ground, it was her bar, no one would run her out of it or disrespect her in it. “And if any of you other assholes have an issue with it you can scram as well.” 

Stand your ground. Stand your ground…

A man, seemingly a captain of one of the sailor ships, leaned over the bar with a knife in hand, too close. His breath reeked of booze and days at sea as he spoke, “Are we going to have a fucking problem?”

Before she could answer, a hand grabbed the man's shoulder from behind, pulling him from the bar with enough force to send him stumbling halfway across the room until one of his shipmates caught him under the arms. For a stunned moment she was only able to stare at the man halfway across the room, but when she turned to thank her accomplice she was both surprised and unnerved.

They were facing out towards the ship's captain and the rest of the sailors, but she could tell that whoever they were, they had at least two heads on her and at least one on all of the sailors. But the thing that unnerved her wasn’t the size of this person, it was the color. A dark, pine green that was tinged almost gray in the bar lighting.

There were always various people coming into town on ships, many colors and many races. All of which she served at the bar. But orcs tended to be either solitary, staying far away from crowded places, or too intent on their immediate tribe or some form of bloodshed. The presence of one alone here was ominous at best.

Chaos broke out in a matter of seconds.

Two sailors drunkenly charged the orc, who sidestepped calmly, and the men fell to the floor, grunting. Once they returned to their feet they tried again with greater numbers this time. Four men, five, seven men. Each group repelled with minimal effort, intending to cause no harm. It was both beautiful and hilarious to watch as men fell to the floor and got to their feet time and time again. She wondered if they would give up eventually or simply tire.

But as most races knew, humans tended to fight with little dignity. Two men and their captain pulled knives and circled around the back of the orc. Without a moment of derision, Treena launched herself from behind the bar with a bottle in hand and blocked the knife that was aimed for her ally’s back.

Glass shattered, blood and wine fell to the floor in a dark, mixed pool.

Everything moved in a blur. She was holding the broken bottle when the orc, who was behind her just a moment ago, lifted her by the waist and placed her with gentleness to the side. Knives fell to the floor and a few sickening cracks of bone echoed in the dying noise of the room. Suddenly it was over. Who remained of the sailors slowly got to their feet and left with dirty, wounded scowls. All the remaining patrons had left during the fight, so all that was left was a huge mess and the orc. She stared in relief and sank to the nearest stool, snickering.

For the first time since the ordeal started the orc turned to face her. Through eyes blurred with tears from bubbling laughter she could make out that her savior was beautiful. Her laughter died down and morphed into another feeling she couldn’t place when the orc’s expression looked something like apprehension.

“Thank you for your help, I could have handled it, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun. My name is Treena,” she bubbled nervously and extended a hand.

For a moment she thought the hand would be snubbed as the orc looked from her hand to her face in a moment of indecision, but she finally felt the press of rough fingers and grinned at the returned introduction, “Mor.”

With a tug of her arm and a hiss from Mor, she looked at the long gash running up the length of Mor’s forearm and frowned with concern, “You’re hurt.”

Mor met her eyes and they crinkled at the edges, dark and warm, “Worth it.”

They both took a moment of laughter and let it fill the silence of the room. She pulled, gently this time, at Mor’s arm and sat her down at a bar stool that was still mostly intact. “Stay here just a moment, I have some medical supplies around back, help yourself to a drink, I think you’ve earned it.”

Treena was gone for a moment, but she rounded the corner with supplies and found Mor half way through a bottle of wine that seemed to have been damaged in the squabble. Ever considerate, she mused as she approached the stool. Mor put out a hand to grab the supplies and Treena snatched them away giving her a scolding look.

“You defended my honor, the least I can do is patch you up and ease the pain with a drink.” It was meant to be a jest, but Mor seemed to take it seriously, extending her arm. She nodded and got to work.

Her arm was a smattering of old scars and new blood, and with no small amount of guilt she followed the lines with her eyes and felt the urge to ask about each one. Mor was clearly a warrior, or had been and was now in retirement, or bored of it and traveling. So many questions and no way to ask them without sounding rude or pushy. A human's curiosity. Mor hissed a deep sound as the antiseptic cleaned the worst of the gash and she looked up to check for signs of more than a sting.

Mor was stunning in a way that no human could ever be. Her face was adorned with hammered pewter, a ring on her close set nose and capped tusks that were an intimidating size, never filed. From a wild clan. Eyes so bright under a surprisingly fair brow-bone they almost looked like honey. She caught herself staring and flushed.

“I have terrible bedside manor,” she mocked herself to deflect.

Mor grinned around sharp teeth, wild and unbridled, and took Treena’s unoccupied hand, “I’ve had worse.”

They continued in comfortable silence for the rest of the wine bottle and first aid, catching glances and occasionally tracing a scar that had nothing to do with the new injury. She traced a particularly raised scar that traveled the length of Mor’s upper arm and startled when Mor spoke. “Valka,” she said quietly, voice emotional and thick.

Treena raised her eyes from the scar that she didn’t realize she was fixated on, wide and unsure.

“It’s from a hunt in Valka. Wild cats. They were tearing apart a local village. Ripped open my arm when it was playing dead. Can’t ever tell for sure, sometimes you can see it in their eyes and sometimes…”

Their eyes locked for a moment, tense and fragile, “…sometimes you can’t. Sometimes you need to get close to see the truth.”

She swallowed, air hot and close as they gravitated closer, “Getting close can mean you get hurt,” Treena whispered into the quiet space between breaths.

With a downturn of eyes Mor leaned in and pressed their lips together gently and briefly, and when she pulled back she was grinning. “The prize is worth the risk.”

She took a steadying breath and looked Mor in the eyes, searching. With a flash of confidence she didn’t feel, she took a swig of the wine on the bar and jumped into Mor’s lap, barely straddling the width of her thighs. She locked their lips, more teeth and tongue than actual kiss. Mor’s tusks, and the cool metal that protected them, served as a reminder of what she was doing, the inherent danger of the situation. Treena had watched Mor take out a dozen armed men, and she was sure that wasn’t the extent of the strength she possessed. 

Mor’s hands wrapped around her lower back and pulled, hips sliding until they were flush to the flat of Mor’s stomach. Knowing that the position would give her something to grind against, Treena moaned, high and breathy, as Mor leaned down to return the kiss. In this position their size difference became staggeringly apparent. It was in the way she held her, body covering and claiming. 

Still against Mor’s hips, she was lifted and placed on the bar top. Here, they were almost at eye level and she took advantage of it, placing a hand around Mor’s neck and the other on broad shoulders, nails biting into the soft flesh around the neck bringing a tight hiss to Mor’s lips.

Callused hands caught on the fine material of her dress and apron as it was hitched up and over her head between the clicking of teeth and heavy breaths. Treena arched with a moan and spike of arousal as Mor stepped between her thighs fully and pressed in tight, a thigh pressing firmly to her clit; the grin on Mor’s face was salacious.

Mor ran the back of her fingers across the jut of collar bone and pale curve of neck, teeth and lips following shortly after; bruises and teeth marks blooming on sweat-salty skin, human and vulnerable. Treena gasped as her head was pulled back roughly by her hair, tilting her head to expose more of her neck and chest. Mor’s chuckle was dark and telling.

“How can you ever repay your savior?”

Fingers trailed the seam of her thigh as the heavy press of tusks and cold metal ghosted the line of her neck with flashes of pain at each bite and soothing kiss.

“I don’t have much to give you,” she panted, playing along, “All I have is this bar.”

Mor hummed and squared off her hips, removing friction, spreading Treena’s thighs obscenely as she leaned over her, flush into her space.

“You can give me your body.” 

Moaning was involuntary, the thrust of her hips as she tried to get friction against the firm muscle between her thighs was instinct and desire, “Take whatever you want, please.”

“Gladly.”

Mor’s fingers that had been trailing the seam of undergarments pulled them with a loud rip and tossed them to the side with a knowing grin, fingers resuming their path and parting soft, wet folds but never more than a teasing touch. Treena thought she would go mad with it, beg for it if she must, but she needed more.

“Please,” she whispered on a breathy sigh, “Need you in me.”

Mor let out the first real moan of pleasure since the coupling started, her grip in Treena’s hair, lost to the passion of the moment before, was renewed with a sharp sting. It pulled her back on an angle so she was on her elbows, leaned and exposed. Mor loomed over her, presence truly telling of her size and strength, and poised a single finger at her entrance.

“Beg me for it.” Mor whispered, voice low and close. 

A stream of curses, begging, and desperate cries left her before she could process the command, her body running on instinct. What she said must have been enough, because as soon as her lips closed on the last plea a finger was sliding into her roughly and wasting no time in angling upwards and aiming to get a reaction.

“Fuck!” She shouted, hands white knuckled on the bar for purchase as she rode out waves that lit her up from chest to toes. Mor just held her by the hair and took up space above her, eclipsing anything in her line of sight. Just bright eyes and the glint of sweat in the dim lighting. Her fingers were so much bigger than her own, so much longer, and the firmness of them gave no leeway when pressing against every bend of her body. It was brutal and devastating and she absolutely needed more.

“Another, please. Please!”

A slight pause, a quick glance and meeting of eyes to check for consent, and Mor nodded and added another. It burned and felt like too much until it wasn’t. She set a punishing pace, strength and stamina evident in every brutal thrust, motions precise and sure.

Mor’s hand let go of her hair and gave her chest a firm push and she sank back to lay on the bar, sprawled and exposed. That same hand came to rest beside her hip and, oh, the angle changed, fuck. It was good, and before Treena had a chance to realize it her pleasure started to build, beginning in her toes, the promise of something explosive.

Her hands gripped the bar edge and she bared down, chasing the release. Mor paused for the briefest moment, shifting so she aligned with a soft thigh, and ground hard against it with a cut off gasp. It didn’t take much for Treena as she watched Mor’s face strain with pleasure. Mor’s fingers found her clit and circled it hard with little finesse and she found herself releasing on Mor’s name with tusks dangerously close against her ribs.

She had a brief moment to bask in the ripples of orgasm before she was hauled forward on the bar top, strong hands gripping her thighs and pressing them together and up. She was hanging off the edge of the bar, both legs tucked to Mor’s chest with a strong bicep, ass and thighs pressed tightly to the curve of Mor’s pelvis. 

“That was beautiful,” Mor said, hips grinding against oversensitive flesh, “My turn.”

Treena’s body sung with sensation as Mor thrust and ground to completion against her, face lowered into the soft skin of her belly and panting lightly. She felt her face flush at the thought of what it would be like to have those hips thrusting into her in other ways. But she pinned the thought for later and lifted her hand, rubbing along the strong jaw and shallow nose.

Mor laughed, whole and bright, and sat up slowly, shifting Treena back to sit on the bar and embracing her in a tight hug.

“I think you’ve paid me back in full.”

“Mmm, I believe so. But I think you owe me for the damage to the bar. I don’t know how you’re going to pay me back.”

Mor’s eyes lit up with mischief and she ran a still wet finger down a soft thigh, “I’m sure I can think of something, I’ll let you know tomorrow? I’ll start by buying you a drink.”

“That sounds perfect.”


End file.
